#NOTHING'S UNDER THERE

[lxvenderjewel]

anatomy practice (nothing is under that mesh shirt)

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

both ethan winters and ashley graham were born in 1984, so i swapped their places

redraw

alt version with pants!

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 5 - I Finally Finished the 2.2 Main Quest Edition

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 3] [Pt. 4] [Pt. 6]

[hinamie]

i don't normally participate in these redraw challenges but it's megumi so i'll make an exception

[hattersarts]

isobel & aylin commissions for @mxjinn !

[powderseas]

starclan's puppet

[greenqueenhightower]

I can't stop thinking of how Otto brought 100 cats to the Red Keep to take the place of the hanged ratcatchers. There was a ferocious war going on, there was danger everywhere, and Otto had the time and energy to go like: "Man, we have way too many rats. Imma do something."

[ln4wins]

whore.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

If they ever decide to make a tf2 show, I want them to keep everything exactly as they were originally intending to make it; like, keep Teufort and all the in universe lore just as ridiculous as it is in the comics. BUT, I want them to animate the RED and BLU team in completely opposite spectrums of style. Make the RED mercs cartoony and silly looking whilst the BLU look like they were straight up pulled out of Emesis Blue type shit; overly realistic and noir detective movie style. As I said though: keep everything the same. So it's just the BLU team constantly looking and acting like they are currently living though the seven shades of hell even as the RED are forming a conga line in front of them mid-battle. For comedy, you see.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

"You and me, Ethan. Together we go save Rose, and then we can grind Miranda into paste!"

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[strange-birb]

Gore warning Ngl idk

[novelconcepts]

Obviously next week could prove this all dead-wrong, but I don’t think the trial’s quite over. I don’t believe the end of that episode actually took place, because I’m pretty sure we’re still firmly in the “punish Agatha” phase. Rio’s suddenly gone. Alice seems to be dead by Agatha’s hand, and no one—including Teen, who has always been on her side—seems primed to believe she was out of control. The others have been sucked beneath the power of the surrogate son who not only just told Agatha to fuck off, but went full-Wanda to do it. It just all seems too tailored to cut up any of the character progress Agatha’s made on the Road thus far. Getting harassed by her ghost mother and hearing her son’s voice don’t feel like a complete tear-down. This does. It feels like more trial.

[flwrkid14]

The Immortal Weight of Tim Drake

There’s a part of Tim that he keeps buried deep inside, locked away so no one can see it—will ever see it. He can’t let them know. Not Dick, not Jason, not Bruce. Hell, not even Steph or Cass. It’s better this way. Because the truth is, Tim Drake isn’t like them. He can’t stay dead.

No matter how many times it happens—how many times a blade finds its way into his gut, a bullet catches him in the chest, or a fall from a skyscraper crushes every bone in his body—Tim comes back. Not right away. No, it takes minutes, sometimes agonizing minutes, where he lies broken, breathless, and unmoving, with nothing but the darkness pressing in. He feels it each time. The quiet nothingness of death that should be final but never is.

He’s not like Jason.

Jason died. Really, truly died. He was buried, mourned, and remembered as the second Robin. His grave sat cold, a monument to a boy too good for the world, too bright to last. And Jason, when he clawed his way out, became a zombie in every sense of the word—not quite living but not quite dead either.

Jason knows what it’s like to rise from death, to feel like he doesn’t belong, like a walking corpse.

But Tim doesn’t know that part.

Tim knows what it’s like to die. He knows the brief moments of oblivion that come with it, the aching cold, the stillness. But he’ll never stay dead. His revival is a guaranteed, while Jason's was a miracle. He’ll never have a grave. Never be mourned, because he’ll always come back.

And that’s what hurts the most.

No one sees him die. He’s careful. So damn careful. On the rare occasions when he can’t hide the fact that he’s dead for a few minutes—those close calls where he doesn’t get up fast enough—he brushes it off, masking the pain with a smile and a joke. If anyone noticed the blood pooling in his suit or the sickening sound of his heart stopping for too long, they never questioned it. The danger passes, and life goes on.

For them, anyway.

For Tim, it never really stops. Every death, every time he’s pushed past the edge, it weighs on him. He knows he’s playing with something dangerous—something unnatural. But what choice does he have? The truth is, it’s not just that he can’t stay dead—it’s that he should be dead. So many times over, in fact.

There are days when Tim wonders if he’s meant to be this way. Maybe, in some twisted, cosmic joke, the universe decided that Tim Drake would be the one who can’t die. Maybe it’s because Gotham needs someone like him. Someone to shoulder the risks no one else can take. After all, if Tim can’t die, what’s one more mission where death is a near certainty? What’s one more gamble with his life? It doesn’t matter anymore, right?

And he doesn’t want them to know, because the moment they know, everything changes. If Dick saw Tim’s body cold and unmoving for just a little too long—if Bruce knew Tim had been gone, even for a heartbeat—what would they do? Tim knows exactly what they’d do. They’d stop sending him on the dangerous missions. They’d protect him, smother him with concern, lock him away to preserve him like some fragile thing that can’t be touched.

But the truth is, Tim’s more dangerous now than he’s ever been. Because he can go where no one else can. He can risk everything, go into every deadly mission, every impossible scenario where the chance of survival is zero. Because he’s already proven that, for him, death is temporary.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t mean he isn’t scared every single time it happens—when he feels life slipping away, the weight of his body going limp, his heart stopping, his breath gone. There’s that brief moment, that flicker of panic in his chest as he wonders, Is this the time I don’t come back? Is this the one that sticks?

But then the pain rushes back, and so does his heartbeat.

He’s alive again, and no one’s the wiser.

Tim can die a thousand times over, but he’ll always get back up. And that’s his curse. To always come back. Even if it means he’ll always be alone in the moments that matter most.

He’ll never have a grave. Never be mourned. But maybe that’s the point.

Jason can have the grave, the tragedy, the return from death that breaks the world apart. Tim just… dies. And he’ll keep dying. Keep coming back. Because that’s what he’s meant for.

It’s better if no one knows. If they don’t know, they won’t hesitate to send him on the missions no one else could survive. They’ll trust him to do what they can’t. And Tim will keep shouldering that weight, carrying death with him like a shadow, never far from his heels.

Because for Tim, death isn’t an ending. It’s just another step in the fight.

[futzfuck]

Having watched Deadpool and Wolverine as well as Logan (and reading a number of comics), i want to find the person who said “we should make another indestructible animalistic rage-filled hairy manlet, but as a little/teenage girl” and give them a kiss on the cheek and a million dollars.